


Table Manners

by Twobit_scribbles



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 16:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16223357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twobit_scribbles/pseuds/Twobit_scribbles
Summary: “Ugh, you’re so gross, Sin.”“Oh come on babe, its classic vampire aesthetic. You know you love it.”“Please. Kikiriku had better table manners than you when he was three years old.”Beta'd by Sleepyzenpanda, thank you so much!





	Table Manners

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post: http://claroquequiza.tumblr.com/post/178352016534/maybe-im-an-old-man-but-goddamn-these-vampires
> 
> Thanks again Sleepy!

“Ugh, you’re so gross, Sin.”

 

Sinbad looks up, away from the ruined remains of the blood bag in kitchen sink.

 

Usually he prefers to drink from a fancy wine glass like the classy, sophisticated vampire he is, but some days he just _has_ to sink his teeth into _something._ The thick plastic is almost nothing compared to warm, living flesh, but it was better than nothing at all. _Patience_ , he tells the thirst. Ja’far has a lead on an abusive asshole that’d gotten off too easy on a technicality in the next state over. Someone the world would be much better off without. Shouldn’t be long now, the man’s personal vendetta against child abusers makes him terrifyingly efficient.

 

Ja’far is giving him a look **™** from the stove, his own meal sizzling away on the burner. “Look at you, you’ve got your dinner all down your face.”

 

Sinbad flashes him a smile, all blood and teeth. “Oh come on babe, its classic vampire aesthetic. You know you love it.”

 

“Please. Kikiriku had better table manners than you when he was three years old.” Ja’far rolls his eyes, fishes around in his pocket for the wet wipes he always keeps on hand, and throws one at Sin’s face.

 

The vampire snatches it out of the air with preternatural grace, and obligingly scrubs his face and neck, “I am the epitome of a sexy creature of the night.”

 

“You missed a spot, Mr. Sexy Night Creature. How old are you again?”

 

“You wound me so deeply! You know I’m sensitive about my age!”

 

Ja’far scoffs at him, turning back to his cooking. Sinbad tosses the shredded blood bag into the trashcan, reaches down to fish the bleach out of the cabinet, and starts scouring the sink because _I put food in there, Sin!_ Idly, he thinks about the next owners of this house. If they shone a blacklight around the place, maybe they’d think that the residents before them were serial killers. Which they kind of were, really. Hmm. Not that any of their victims would be missed.

 

“You never seem to mind when it’s _your_ blood,” He helpfully points out, a smirk playing about his lips.

 

Ja’far knows him too well to rise to the bait, but Sinbad hears his heart rate pick up just a little bit. He smiles. Turns, leans back against the sink, and lets his eyes trail over Ja’far’s neck for the thousandth time.

 

The wound is healing nicely, the redness and swelling long gone, the beginnings of scar tissue forming over it again. Still too soon to drink from him; anemia is no joke, and something neither of them wants.

 

Even so, he can’t help but imagine it. The way he’d trail his fingers, lightly, barely touching the skin, over Ja’far’s face, down his neck, dipping down his collarbone to stroke back up again, until he’s trembling. Moving his lips, ever so slowly, down to his neck. Peppering the white flesh with kisses, playful little nips and bites, the appetizer before the main course, the buildup of anticipation they both loved. And finally, sinking his teeth in without warning, the surprise of the pain wrenching a cry of pleasure from Ja’far’s lips. The rich, warm taste of his lifeblood, given to Sinbad so willingly and eagerly. Nothing else satisfied him as much.

 

And afterwards, when Ja’far is pale, and cold, and weak, taking care of him in return, carefully cleaning and bandaging the painful old wound one more time. Pressing a glass of orange juice to his lips, helping him hold it in his shaking hands on the nights he takes too much. Bundling his shivering body up in their old fluffy blanket and carrying him to bed, despite the protests of “really Sin, I can walk, it’s not _that_ bad.” Elevating his feet to help his circulation, and curling around him. Pulling him close to his chest, wishing that his own long dead body had more warmth to offer. Stroking his hair as he dozed against him.

 

“Don’t look at me like that, you have been fed,” says Ja’far, not even glancing up from his task, the same tone a cat owner would use to tell their fussy pet that no, they don’t get seconds just because they beg for it.

 

_Down boy_ , Sinbad tells the thirst, _not yet._ He throws a hand out, the other pressing to his chest dramatically. “Yes, it’s true. But you know that I will never truly be satisfied, because my desire for you has no limit!”

 

“My patience for your bullshit does,” Ja’far deadpans, “Out. Go sit on the couch, you don’t want to miss your show. I’m almost done here.”

 

Sighing theatrically, Sinbad admits defeat for now, sneaks a quick kiss to Ja’far’s cheek and darts away before the other man can hit him with his spatula. He flops onto the couch, soberly resisting the temptation to watch his partner over the barstool counter, a flips on the TV. There’s an episode of that hilarious new vampire drama premiering in a few minutes, can’t miss that.

 

Ja’far settles next to him, dinner in hand, right after the opening credits. Normally they would ‘eat’ together, but messy blood bags and Ja’far’s nice upholstery don’t mix. Sinbad throws an arm over his shoulders the second he finishes, pulling him close. He laughs at the late-twenties actors pretending to be teenagers, the ‘vampire’s’ awful over-gelled hairstyle and horribly fake CGI fangs, and the look of annoyance and offense on Ja’far’s face whenever the human love interest does something overdramatic and stupid.

 

“It’s really not that hard to handle your sexy undead boyfriend,” Ja’far says, nudging his vampire’s side, “Right, Sin?”

 

“Nah,” He replies easily, “but it does take a special kind of person to do it.”

 

“You’re so corny,” Ja’far deadpans, but shifts closer to Sinbad’s side, laying his head on his shoulder.

 

_Quiet_ , Sinbad tells the ever-present thirst. _Be satisfied, this is more than worth it_.

**Author's Note:**

> Managed to work up the motivation to write a spoopy oneshot for Sinjatober. Didn't turn out as funny as I wanted, but oh well. Validate me please~


End file.
